


sugar + salt

by annejumps



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Adult Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Bottom Richie Tozier, Chef Richie Tozier, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Homophobic Language, M/M, Restaurant Owner Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Richie Tozier, Workplace Relationship, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26682352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: Having such a great team made Eddie excited to wake up every day and work with them, even though his hours were still long and he had almost no free time. Not that that was anything new; he had been working basically nonstop since he'd left school.The one thorn in Eddie’s side was his head chef, Richie Tozier.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 225





	sugar + salt

The minute he got his Masters in management, Eddie started on the path to opening his own restaurant. 

He wanted a cozy corner place, but a nice one, the type that would become a neighborhood institution. The type that got gushing "must visit" writeups in travel magazines. The type with regulars. 

It wasn't as though there were no risk—in fact, opening a restaurant was one of the riskiest ventures possible, with one of the highest failure rates, and he was well aware. He’d just always dreamed of having a place where friends could gather, especially given his childhood alone in a house with an overbearing mother who didn’t want him to see anyone or go anywhere, who had him thinking for years that he was allergic or sensitive to everything under the sun (including the sun). 

It took him a few tries, and a few failed ventures. Sometimes, the years he spent trying to keep a place going felt wasted. But he was determined, and had a feeling that the latest corner lot he’d purchased would finally be The One. And within a year of opening, sugar + salt (the lowercase styling was basically a necessity in this hip part of town) was on plenty of top-ten lists. 

They were known especially for their weekend brunch: their quiche lorraine, hazelnut-crusted French toast, lox platters, and signature Brunch Burger. Every weekend morning, they were packed. They got fresh baked goods and pastries from Mellon’s Bakery in town every morning, too, because it was important to Eddie to help support another gay-owned business. 

He had some great staff members. Eddie had grown up as an only child, and as much as he liked the idea of being a self-made man who got here on his own, he knew that successful restaurants involved teams, and this one was virtually like a family to him. His business school friend Stan was his accountant. Eddie’s longtime friend Bill was the manager, with Mike their dependable assistant manager. Ben, a lucky hire off the street, was their kind-hearted and welcoming host. Beverly, their expert bartender, built their reputation for excellent mimosas, breakfast margaritas, and Bloody Marys. Not that he’d admit it to anyone since it sounded a little crazy, but in a weird way, he felt like he’d known them all forever even though the only one he’d actually known since childhood was Bill. 

Having such a great team made Eddie excited to wake up every day and work with them, even though his hours were still long and he had almost no free time. Not that that was anything new; he had been working basically nonstop since he'd left school.

The one thorn in Eddie’s side was his head chef, Richie Tozier. 

Now, Eddie didn’t actually know all that much about food. Not only was he raised by a mother who took no enjoyment in it (who even had him convinced for most of his life that he had allergies and sensitivities he didn’t realize he didn’t have until he went to college—cue the start of therapy), he went to business school, not culinary school. 

So, the success of his latest operation rested largely on the inventiveness, taste, skill, and knowledge of Richie, New England Culinary Institute star graduate, who just happened to be a friend of Stan’s. And he had all that in spades. Some reviews hailed him as a genius.

He was also brash, obnoxious, and outspoken, more often late than he was on time. He and Eddie were at loggerheads almost immediately: right off the bat, Richie insisted his menu ideas were better, and trial and error proved him correct, all things considered; Eddie wasn’t eager to admit it, but he had to. Richie, a huge farm-to-table advocate, wanted to source locally as much as possible; Eddie wasn’t convinced on the numbers, but with Mike’s help (Mike came from a farming family), he eventually came around. Richie took a lot of pride in his food, and observed cleanliness at the minimum, but he was lazy and sloppy about paperwork and logging waste. That type of thing could bring down a restaurant, Eddie would remind him regularly, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. Richie also habitually made off-color jokes; thank God he was back of house and not a server. He ordered inconsistently, like he was never sure how much they’d need of a given item, and he was definitely far too lenient with his staff. “You’re their chef, not their friend,” Eddie would insist, and Richie would always retort with “So sue me, I don’t want the people who work under me to hate me,” rather pointedly, which rankled—Eddie might be stern, but his employees didn’t hate him. Richie saying that bothered him more than it should. 

Richie was such a cornerstone to sugar + salt’s success that Eddie more or less had to put up with it if he didn’t change his ways, although Eddie definitely made his opinions on Richie’s behaviors known—not that it had much impact, and not that anyone really backed him up with more than an apologetic shrug. The rest of the staff was generally of the opinion that they didn’t want Richie to leave for another place—he was in high demand, so it was a concern. Still, though, Eddie thought it was important to have standards and for Richie to at least try to adhere to them. Even he could admit sometimes that he harped on him. But it was exasperating that Richie was clearly a smart, talented guy, yet he slacked off so badly in important areas. He could be capable of so much more, Eddie thought, if he just showed some discipline. It seemed there were plenty of things to pick at Richie about; it became a habit, and Eddie felt like a teacher with a recalcitrant student.

Making matters worse was the fact that Eddie thought he was very attractive.

Richie was tall and broad, scruffy, with shaggy dark hair and glasses. He was clearly an aging hipster, an aesthetic Eddie did not approve of on paper, but he had a square jaw and big hands, to say nothing of his forearms. More than once when he was at home alone at night Eddie found his mind wandering to what Richie might look like naked, what he might like in bed, what he might do. He was always appalled at himself, but not enough to completely put a stop to it. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he could.

He only knew Richie was gay because Adrian, the owner of the bakery they sourced from, told him more or less in passing. Adrian would never out someone against their will, so Eddie had to assume it was a known thing, just not something that he personally had been made aware of. Which was fine; he didn’t have to know everything. Eddie was definitely out, known in the local press as a top gay restaurant owner, but Richie, who was usually comfortable talking about any subject under the sun, had never talked about it with him. Eddie assumed Richie wasn’t interested in him, although he wasn’t above flirting with anything that moved. Which was fine, of course. Obviously. The owner of a restaurant dating or sleeping with the head chef wouldn’t make for the greatest optics, after all. And neither of them were leaving those positions anytime soon, so it was fine that Richie wasn’t interested. 

It was for the best, actually.

“Hey,” Bill said in the hall one morning as Eddie walked into his office. “I wanted to mention something to you.”

“Fire away, Big Bill,” Eddie said. As kids, they’d called him that, and the name stuck, despite the fact that once they were grown up, Eddie, always known as a short kid, was taller than Bill. Something about his attitude still meant the name suited him. He was the manager, after all, for a reason.

“It’s about Richie,” Bill said, lowering his voice. “The guys from Bowers Bar & Grill have been sniffing around him. Rumor has it they’re going to ask him to come on over there.”

Eddie squinted. “Bowers? They can afford Richie?”

Bill shrugged. “They can at least match us. They’re looking to revamp their menu, maybe remodel.”

“Henry Bowers doesn’t have the discipline for a major overhaul,” Eddie scoffed. “They’re lucky they’re hanging on, that type of joint is a dime a dozen.”

“I think that’s why he’s looking to make the investment,” Bill said. 

Mike walked in, and set down his bag in his office. “Hey, guys,” he called. “Telling him about Richie?” he said to Bill, walking up.

“Does everybody know about this but me?” Eddie groused. “The disrespect.”

Bill shrugged. “You can’t be surprised no one would want to raise this with you directly.” Next to him, Mike nodded.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie said. “We doing anything to keep Richie?” He felt distinct alarm at the idea of his excellent head chef defecting. Georgie, Bill’s younger brother, was more or less his apprentice and doing really well, and in theory could take up his mantle, but at the same time, such a loss would be a serious blow to sugar + salt’s reputation, and by extension Eddie’s. Plus, the very thought of one of his people working for Bowers instead was just plan offensive. The place just wouldn’t be the same without him—without any of them.

Bill folded his arms. “That’s up to you, man.”

Eddie frowned. “Why would you assume I wouldn’t want to keep Richie?” 

Mike half-smiled, a dimple popping out. “We know you don’t get along very well with Richie.”

“Yeah, but he’s basically a genius! I don’t want to see any of us leave, but he’s a major cornerstone of our operation.” Eddie raked a hand through his hair and then was immediately annoyed at himself for messing it up. 

“We have Georgie,” Bill said.

“I know,” Eddie said, “and he’s doing great, Bill, but he’s not Richie. There’s no good reason for Richie to leave, damn it.”

“Might want to tell him that,” Mike said.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think he’s considering it?”

Mike shrugged. “He might be. Think about it. He’d have the chance to overhaul a menu, his way, and it’s so casual over there he might prefer the environment.”

“I have to run a tight ship!” Eddie exclaimed. “It’s a business! There are rules!”

Bill clapped Eddie on the shoulder. “Hey, man. None of us _want_ Richie to go.”

Just then, Eddie heard Stan down the hall, unlocking his office door. He hurried down to him. “Stan,” he started. Stan was Richie’s friend; maybe he would know.

“Yes, I do think there’s a possibility Bowers could poach Richie,” Stan said without waiting for Eddie to continue, walking into his office and setting down his coffee travel mug and his bag. “It’s small, but it’s there.”

Leaning against the doorframe, Eddie wiped his hand down his face. “What do we do?”

“Sweet-talk him,” Stan said dryly. Eddie sighed. Everyone knew he was hopeless at that.

Ben and Bev arrived—Eddie had suspected they were dating, but them showing up together and making eyes at each other more or less confirmed it. Good for them—Bev was not that many years off of a very unpleasant divorce, and Ben had liked her from his first day, they could all tell. Although Eddie knew the restaurant industry was notorious for relationships between coworkers, if they were dating, it probably wouldn’t be an issue. Ben was a sweetheart and Eddie trusted Bev a great deal.

“Guys!” Eddie said, as they passed him to clock in. “Do you think Richie’s planning to leave?”

Bev paused to consider. “Maybe? He can be hard to read.” Which was a bizarre thing to say, Eddie thought. The guy who said everything that popped into his head, hard to read? Either Eddie had been missing serious signals or Richie didn’t feel comfortable raising the issue with him—that, or he was already planning to leave with no warning, leaving Eddie on the back foot, and everybody else already knew. 

Ben frowned sympathetically, hands in his back jean pockets. “I’m sure Richie wouldn’t want to leave. We all love it here, Eddie.”

Eddie sighed. 

“Hey,” Richie called, as he walked toward the offices. “Anybody home?” Which was infuriating coming from someone who was usually the last of the seven of them to show up. Stan went into his office, Bill and Mike into theirs, and Bev and Ben went out front to greet the rest of the staff as they arrived, greeting Richie as they passed. Eddie was alone in the hall when Richie walked in. “Hey,” Richie said to him, looking surprised and, if Eddie wasn’t imagining things, a little abashed.

Eddie briefly considered directly confronting Richie about his possible plans for defection, or demanding to know why Richie hadn’t said anything to him at all about them. But he remembered what Stan said about sweet-talking. Stan usually had a point.

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie said, and smiled. It felt a little pained.

Richie looked taken aback, brows raised as he moved past Eddie to go set down his things. “Uh, sorry I’m late,” he said. 

“It’s fine,” Eddie told him. Now Richie looked alarmed.

“I, uh,” Richie said, wary, backing off. “I’ll just go and get started, then.” Before Eddie could react, he went on to the kitchen. The other cooks were arriving, and standing in the hall, arms still crossed, he could hear Richie calling out greetings in Spanish to the staff. Eddie knew enough Spanish to know he was asking them if it was okay if he listened to Led Zeppelin’s _Houses of the Holy_ today, to start. Naturally, they agreed. A big music lover, Richie liked to have all kinds of stuff playing in the kitchen, often what the cooks preferred, from what sounded like Mexican oldies to Bob Marley, but with time every now and then for whatever he was in the mood for. Eddie didn’t recognize a lot of it, but he was kind of fascinated and kept an ear out for it anyway. 

Eddie went to his office, and tried to think. How could he get Richie to stay?

That night, after close, Eddie waited until Richie was packing up to leave, and hurried to follow him out. Looking at him quizzically, Richie paused under a streetlight in the parking lot to let him catch up. 

“How’s it going, Richie?” he asked as his steps slowed, and cleared his throat.

“Fine, I guess?” Richie replied. “Why?”

“Can’t I just ask you how things are going?” Eddie asked, already impatient. 

“You don’t usually, no?” And that was pretty much true. Whenever Eddie did see Richie, he was usually late, or was missing something, or had forgotten something. 

“Look, I just—” They’d reached Richie’s Mustang. “I just…. I hope you’re happy working here.”

“You do?” Richie raised a brow. 

“Well yeah, of course. You’re… part of our team.” 

Richie shrugged. “Teamwork makes the dream work,” he said with a flat smile. “See you tomorrow, Eds,” he added, opening his car door.

“Yeah. See you,” Eddie said, ignoring for the first time the annoying nickname Richie had given him many months ago. Folding his arms, he sighed, and watched Richie pull out of the lot before walking to his own car.

This hadn’t started very auspiciously. 

\-------

Richie didn’t get it.

He loved working at sugar + salt. He was on friendly terms with almost the entire staff, he’d crafted the menu himself after plenty of struggle, and he thought the clientele was great.

The only problem was the owner, a pain in the ass who was always on Richie’s case over basically nothing. A _hot_ pain in the ass, unfortunately. Not a big guy; compact like a runner, with soft-looking dark hair, huge dark eyes, and dimples. Hot—Richie found his stray shower thoughts tending toward wondering what he might look like underneath his obviously expensive suits. Hot, and also gay. Richie knew that because he kept ending up on lists like “Ten Gay Restaurant Owners of New England to Watch” and the clippings kept being framed and hung on their walls.

Not that that mattered, anyway. Although Richie was out, it wasn’t something he felt the need to discuss with everyone, and someone this sour to him didn’t seem interested anyway. Crying fucking shame, too, because again: super hot. Not that Richie thought getting involved with the owner of the restaurant where he worked was ever a good idea… and not that knowing something was a bad idea had ever really stopped him, when the occasion presented itself, but still. The occasion did not seem like it would present itself, so to speak, where Eddie was concerned.

Now that he’d been out of culinary school for well over a decade, even though he hadn’t been here that long, Richie’s life’s work culminated in this restaurant, and even in a short time he’d come to accomplish a lot here. The menu was his pride and joy. He knew how key he was to its success, and how important he was to the place. And he would never admit it to anyone, but the owner’s lack of appreciation of him… well, it hurt his feelings. Again, not that he’d ever tell anyone that, or put it that way. It was just that Eddie made such a big deal out of having a Masters in Management of Hospitality from Cornell (“I went to an Ivy League school!” he would exclaim, which… supreme dick move, and he way overused it), and, well, unfortunately his opinion kind of mattered to Richie, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to examine why. 

Yeah, recently Henry Bowers of Bowers Bar & Grill had started talking to him; they met for coffee a while back. He was not a pleasant guy, and his restaurant was run of the mill. Richie toyed with the idea of starting at a new place, getting to redo their menu, start from scratch. Yet he knew well enough that not only was Bowers not particularly pleasant, their staff in general wasn’t either. One of the cooks genuinely gave Richie the creeps, and he couldn’t imagine actually supervising him. Being head chef there probably wouldn’t be a great move; lateral, at best. Yet Richie knew he had some leverage here, both with sugar + salt and with Bowers Bar & Grill. If he wanted to, he could play them off each other, or play them both to get an executive chef position at a more prestigious place. 

But when you got down to it, Richie liked sugar + salt and didn’t really see himself making a move. He liked everyone there a lot, even Eddie, all things considered.

However, he definitely didn’t get why Eddie was suddenly being so nice to him. Well… in fairness, he’d only asked him how things were going, and smiled at him. Sad that the bar was that low, but still, it was very different from his usual brusqueness and criticism. Had he finally started appreciating Richie? Or, even more unlikely, was he… coming on to him…? He was an odd guy; maybe that was his idea of flirting. He would be surprised, though, if Eddie were the type to set out to date or even sleep with a coworker. Eddie was a rules-follower to a fault. Even though Ben and Bev were together, that didn’t mean Eddie was fully aware, or fully approved, or that he’d do that himself. Obviously an owner dating an employee would be a whole different thing.

Richie spent all evening thinking about it, until he started wondering whether Eddie somehow knew he’d met with Bowers, and he believed things were more serious in that regard than they were. Maybe his change in attitude was purely mercenary. At any other place, Richie would have considered it too little, too late. But he did want to stay at sugar + salt.

If Eddie didn’t know that right now, that was fine.

\-------

Eddie was determined to take an entirely new attitude toward Richie. Yes, last night had been awkward. He could manage.

He got to the restaurant first, and rather than walking from office to office as everyone came in, he looked through his books and waited for them to come to him. After all, when you got down to it, everyone knew to get here on time, and even when Richie was later than everybody else, it didn’t really matter—Georgie and his other cooks could handle it until he got there, and he was never so late that he didn’t make it at all. Richie was indeed last in again, and Eddie heard his footsteps slow as he approached Eddie’s office door. He peeked his head around, brows raised, peering through his glasses at Eddie in trepidation.

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie said, and looked back down at his laptop. “Good to see you.”

“Right,” Richie said slowly. “Uh, hi, Eddie. Good to see you, too,” he said, sounding skeptical. There was a long pause. 

“Okay,” Eddie said, “I’ll let you get to it. Have a good day.”

“You too, man,” Richie said, with a small, puzzled-seeming wave. 

When Bev walked past his office, she snickered at him. He ignored it.

Eddie walked back to the kitchen during the midafternoon lull, looking for Richie. He was wrapping up a talk with a few of the cooks, including Georgie, arms folded as he instructed them. They were listening intently, but as soon as they saw Eddie approaching, they looked startled, glancing back to Richie, who nodded his dismissal. “Thanks, guys. Hey,” he said to Eddie, sounding wary, as the cooks rushed back to their stations.

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie said, a little hesitant. “Just wanted to say I know I still owe you comments on the seasonal menu change suggestions, so if you wanted to come by tonight before you leave….” He shrugged.

Richie blinked. “Right, yeah. Okay.” He put his hands on his hips, squinting. Damn, he made even chef’s whites, an apron, and a striped cap look good. His hands and hairy forearms had the typical small burn scars and cuts of an experienced chef, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves; Eddie had seen plenty of cooks in his day, but Richie stood out, for a number of reasons. “I’ll be by,” he finally said. He pointed at Eddie before turning and walking back to the line. “Hey. I’m serious about that elevated red flannel hash.”

Eddie scoffed. “How could you possibly—” Eddie still felt trying to make a common breakfast hash into a fancy brunch thing was silly, even as he knew if anyone could do it, Richie could, because he’d done similar things before. Still, he felt he had to put up some sort of resistance, even if it was mostly for show. 

“Trust me!” Richie said, his voice carrying over the noise of the kitchen. “It’s either that or I tell Adrian it’s a yes on the red velvet whoopie pies.”

“Over my dead body,” Eddie told him as he left the kitchen. Richie’s loud laugh echoed after him. This time, though, he sounded genuinely entertained rather than mocking. Honestly, Eddie no longer really had a problem with putting whoopie pies on the menu, but arguing was kind of their thing.

That night, after everyone else had left, Richie entered his office and sat down across from him. “Hey, man,” he said. 

Eddie looked up, and gave him a brief smile. Richie seemed taken aback, but didn’t say anything. “Hey, Richie.” It felt strangely intimate being alone with him, but Eddie dismissed the thought. This was just work.

“So. Red flannel hash,” Richie said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped, almost sounding hesitant. “I really think it could be good. Local beef, local beets, local heirloom potatoes….”

“Yeah. Let’s do it,” Eddie said.

Richie looked surprised.

“The red velvet whoopie pies, too, I think,” Eddie added. “Let Adrian know.”

Richie blinked, and sat back. “I came here expecting to argue. As usual,” he said.

“They’re good ideas, Rich,” Eddie said. “You’ve always had good ideas.”

Richie looked around, to the corners of the ceiling, like he was checking for cameras (there weren’t any in here). “Is this a prank?” he asked.

Eddie raised his brows. “I can admit when I’m wrong, you know.”

“Whatever happened to ‘I went to an Ivy League school’?” Richie said, a little teasingly, a little acidic. He folded his arms.

Eddie felt his face turning red. “I _did_ go to an Ivy League school,” he said, a little haughtily, “and that’s how I know your ideas are good.”

Richie laughed, and it sounded warm. “There you are,” he said, and looked at Eddie for a few moments, almost smiling.

Eddie cleared his throat, and Richie seemed almost to snap out of whatever reverie that was.

“Anyway, I’ve got more suggestions I could send you,” Richie said. “If we’re on a roll, here. I might go mad with power, watch out.”

“We can discuss them, at least,” Eddie said. “My office door is always open.”

“Yeah, about that, you might want to close it sometimes when you’re yelling at a vendor,” Richie said with a wink.

“They don’t always listen to Bill, and Mike is too nice!” Eddie protested, hoping he didn’t look too flustered by that wink, which would be ridiculous. Obviously nothing was meant by it.

Standing, Richie laughed. “Someone’s gotta be the hardass,” he allowed. “I’ll get going. You good with closing up?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I’ve got a few more spreadsheets to review.”

“Sounds fun,” Richie said dryly, and Eddie waved dismissively at him. 

“Go on, get going,” he said. “The bars are still open, I know how you chefs are with your wild lifestyles.”

Richie huffed out a laugh. “Not me, man,” he said. “Sober ten years.”

Eddie looked up, startled. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn't know.”

“It’s okay,” Richie said easily, one shoulder shrugging. “You’d have no reason to know.”

“Right,” Eddie said. 

“As for ‘lifestyle,’ I didn’t think we called it that anymore,” Richie said, with a snicker. “Very Nineties. Not really my thing anymore, either. Just going to go home, watch some Netflix, feed the cat. Maybe cuddle with her, if she’s in the mood.”

That joke about “lifestyle” was the closest Richie had come so far to acknowledging being gay to Eddie. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“See you tomorrow, Eds,” Richie said before Eddie could come up with something, and Eddie rolled his eyes briefly but otherwise let the nickname pass without comment. 

“Good night, Rich.”

\-------

“So,” Richie said in the alleyway behind sugar + salt, as Bill lit up a cigarette, “Eddie’s been real fuckin’ nice to me lately. Last week he took my menu suggestions basically without argument, even the ones I emailed him later, some of which I put in there mostly just to see what he’d say.”

“Mm,” Bill said, around the cigarette.

“I don’t get it,” Richie continued. “Did he finally get his head out of his ass, or what?”

Bill exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Maybe he realizes what an important asset you are, Richie.”

“I’ll forgo making an ‘asset’ joke since I’m within hitting distance. But I mean, that’s what I would hope,” Richie said. “It just seems kinda out of the fuckin’ blue, that’s all. Why now?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Bill said, and Richie looked at him sharply. “But,” Bill continued, “I told him Bowers was after you.”

“Bill! Jesus.”

“What? He needs to appreciate you, Richie.” Bill took a long drag.

“Yeah, but, like…” Richie waved a hand. “I was kind of hoping he’d come around on his own, not that he was just trying to prevent me from going somewhere else. That’s kind of bullshit, man.” 

“What? Make him think there’s a chance you’re leaving. Leverage it. Milk it. He owes you. You’ve got the power here, Richie.”

“Why, Bill, you Machiavellian little shit,” Richie said, jabbing Bill’s arm with his elbow. “Think I could get some sexual favors out of him too?” He waggled his brow, and Bill laughed, sounding surprised. Richie hadn’t mentioned to anyone that he found Eddie attractive, for obvious reasons, but Bill couldn’t be that surprised. Bill had an idea of his type.

“Maybe,” Bill laughed, “but I can’t officially endorse trying that.”

“Ah, you’re no fun,” Richie sighed, and checked his watch. “Break time’s over for me,” he said, and clapped Bill on the shoulder. “Back to the grind.”

For the rest of his shift, he kept mulling over Eddie’s behavior—more or less what he’d been doing since Eddie started acting like this, but now with more interesting information. Eddie knew Bowers had talked to him, and was under the impression that he was considering leaving, and was apparently pretty desperate to keep him. 

The thing was, Richie didn’t really have that much to complain about and nothing much more to ask; his salary was competitive, Eddie had acquiesced to his menu suggestions and given indication he’d continue to do so, and he liked working here with people he wanted to be around. He doubted Bowers had the vision to see a real revamping through. Richie’s real problem, Eddie’s attitude toward him, had been solved just by the scent of competition in the air. 

Which probably meant, however, that as soon as Richie admitted that he wanted to stay, Eddie might be back to his old self again. As comforting as that routine might be, Richie found himself preferring an Eddie who didn’t treat him like a recalcitrant child. 

Maybe… maybe, once he let it be known that he had no intention of leaving for Bowers’ place, he could follow through on Eddie’s criticism over his admittedly sloppy paperwork and lenience on his cooks. Maybe it would be worth it to have Eddie continuing to be nice to him. Which was a pretty surprising thought, given Richie’s natural reluctance to obey authority. Not to sound like a snot-nosed punk, or anything. Why would it matter that Eddie thought well of him? He was a star chef, after all. He could have his pick of places to go; Eddie was just proving what Richie already knew.

But at least until he finally admitted that he had no plans to leave, Richie could probably milk this at least a little. Maybe get a raise. Maybe finally get fried clam bellies on the menu for the summer—that was a hill he might be willing to die on. 

Suddenly, he remembered how Eddie’s blush had deepened when Richie had winked at him. That was nothing, right? His sense of propriety was offended, that was all. If Eddie had the capability of being flustered by Richie, Richie would have noticed it a lot earlier. Right? And furthermore, nothing would come of it, anyway—there was no way in hell Eddie would let himself flirt back with or get involved with an employee. Richie was sure of that. Of course, that was even assuming Richie was Eddie’s type, and Richie was 100% positive that was not the case. If anything, Richie was sure Eddie went after Chads in polo shirts and pleated khakis, with Maseratis and stock options and homes in the Hamptons. The man wore Gucci loafers and Christian Dior cologne, for sweet fuck’s sake.

At best, then, if Richie started flirting with him, messing with him a little, at most he’d probably just exhibit irritation, which would be entertaining in and of itself. On the rare occasions he’d teased Eddie, it had been pretty amusing. If Eddie really was being more lenient to him now, he’d probably let him get away with it.

This might be fun.

\-------

If Eddie wasn’t wrong—and he rarely was—Richie was actually starting to listen to his feedback. Then again, it might be too soon to say—a week of showing up on time wasn’t yet enough information to go on. His paperwork was better, too. And Eddie was pretty sure he’d heard Richie being sterner than usual with some cooks who were on break for too long and goofing off too much.

Taken altogether, the effect was… kind of hot, not that Eddie would admit that to anyone. Apparently Richie actually doing what he said was kind of a turn-on, not that he was fully comfortable labeling it that way even just to himself. Maybe it was a small price to pay for forgoing his pride a little and taking Richie’s menu suggestions without much argument.

What was complicating things was that Eddie was starting to suspect that Richie was actually flirting with him. Why, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t need to flirt to get Eddie to listen to him, and he probably wasn’t actually interested in Eddie. Maybe it had just been so long since anyone had really flirted with Eddie that he was wildly misinterpreting Richie being friendly. He was a pretty gregarious guy, after all. Maybe he just hadn’t been friendly to Eddie yet and Eddie hadn’t seen it. 

Eddie found himself going more and more often back to the kitchen, just to watch Richie work. He’d been in the habit of going back there every so often anyway, of course just to see what was going on, but now he wasn’t there to analyze and critique him; he just wanted to look at him, and he kind of felt a little bit pathetic about it. He hoped it wasn’t obvious what he was doing, but…. 

Kitchens were always really warm, of course, and the cooks always got sweaty and usually looked pretty disheveled by the end of the night. It was normal. Richie, though, looked pretty damn hot, not just sweaty. Loudly calling out authoritative instructions over the din and the music (James Brown, Eddie recognized once; The Clash another time, although he didn’t know the song—something about “The Magnificent Seven”?—and surprisingly, on another occasion, Édith Piaf). Damp hair sticking in curls to his forehead, face slightly flushed, competence fully on display but not in a showoff way. 

Eddie definitely hadn’t gotten any in a while, because it was all making him think (again) about what Richie might be like in bed. Sweaty. Bossy. Loud. 

Passionate. 

And while Eddie doubted there would be knives involved _if_ they ever had sex (although, he supposed, anything was possible), he still found it very interesting to watch Richie expertly chop up vegetables, to say nothing of when he carved up their meat delivery. He doubted, however, that Richie would appreciate Eddie thinking of his skills with this cast.

Richie glanced over at him curiously a time or two, maybe a little anxiously at first, but otherwise didn’t comment on or otherwise acknowledge Eddie’s watching him.

They met again for Richie’s menu suggestions just before closing up one night; Richie wanted to expand the dinner menu for late autumn, with Yankee pot roast and an elevated succotash. Although fried clam bellies were very much a summer dish, Richie did casually mention wanting them too, which made Eddie hopeful that he was planning to stay for at least another year, although neither of them mentioned it. 

“It all sounds good to me, Rich,” Eddie said. “If you’ve got any specifics about ingredients and sourcing, let me know, but I’ll make note of some placeholders for the time being. Otherwise I think we’re done here, so I’ll let you get going.”

Richie glanced up at the clock on the wall. “I’m in no hurry,” he said, slouching down a little in his chair, wide shoulders relaxing against the back of it in a way that did something funny to Eddie’s stomach. “I can hang out a little more before Frieda will start wondering where I am.”

“Frieda?” 

“My cat,” Richie supplied, grinning.

“Right, of course. Well, you’re free to... hang out until I leave, I shouldn’t be much longer,” Eddie said, feeling his face turn pink. “It’s just… boring.”

Richie shrugged. “I don’t mind. A long day of working in a loud, hot kitchen is enough excitement for me.” He slumped back a little further, tilting his head back. “I’m not going to be entertaining company right now, though.”

“That’s fine.”

Eddie was glad to see that Richie closed his eyes, like he was resting, tapping his foot on the floor almost distractedly. That way, Richie wouldn’t see him sneaking little glances over to him as he finished up this spreadsheet. 

Richie’s head was tilted back in such a way as to put his gorgeous neck and square jaw on display, all of it dusted with dark stubble. Eddie found himself wanting to kiss him, bite him just under the hinge of his jaw. He had to drag his attention back to the stupid spreadsheet.

Finally, he was done. Abruptly, he slammed the laptop shut, startling Richie out of his catnap. “Sorry,” he said, and locked the laptop in his desk drawer as Richie stood and stretched. He seemed to take up even more of the cramped office doing that: long arms, broad shoulders, broad chest everywhere. The room seemed stifling all of a sudden, and Eddie felt his face burn again as he attempted to distract himself by packing up his stuff in his bag. 

“Walk you out?” Richie said after a yawn.

“Sure.” Eddie walked out of the office first, and turned off the lights he hadn’t already turned off. He set the alarm, and they went to the front.

They weren’t expecting to see a figure in the parking lot.

\-------

Eddie had just locked the front door, and Richie stopped him from continuing on into the parking lot with a hand to his chest. Startled, Eddie got out “What—” before Richie shushed him.

Richie said in a low voice, “Who’s that? Under that streetlight?”

Eddie went still, on the alert. “Um,” he whispered, squinting. The figure walked toward them, and Richie moved to stand more in front of Eddie. “It’s…. Shit, I think it’s Bowers,” Eddie concluded, sounding disbelieving. “What’s he doing here?”

Bowers, or whoever it was, continued to walk slowly toward them, like an animal stalking its prey. Richie didn’t move his arm from over Eddie’s chest, although Eddie was starting to resist, pressing against it like he was going to go fight the guy himself or something.

Wildly, Richie imagined himself saying “Halt! Who goes there!” Instead he said, “Hey, man. You wanna stop right there. Back it up.”

The man kept walking, still slowly, into the next circle of light from a streetlight. Richie didn’t move, although he sensed Eddie was about to make a run right at him. So help him, Richie wouldn’t be above tackling Eddie and dragging him back. 

It was Bowers, and he was swaying slightly on his feet. He laughed under his breath. “Hey, guys,” he sneered. “Just… making a friendly visit.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Richie said. “Leave now and we might not call the police.”

Bowers gestured with both hands in mock supplication; Richie took the opportunity to look and make sure he wasn’t carrying a weapon in them. “Hey, man, I’m just making a friendly visit. Like I said.”

“Fucking get the fuck out of here, asshole,” Eddie told him, irritated.

Bowers frowned exaggeratedly and shook his head. “Is that a way to talk to a fellow restaurateur, Eddie?” He stepped closer still, and Richie moved to put himself more between Bowers and Eddie, trying to discreetly scan for the best escape route. Bowers was right in front of them, but it was an open parking lot, and Bowers might not be the best runner, at least not right now. True, Bowers wasn’t technically being all that threatening, but Richie had always gotten weird vibes from him and he was definitely not willing to give him the benefit of the doubt just now. It wasn’t like Bowers didn’t have access to a shit-ton of knives….

“Aw, look at that. How sweet,” Bowers slurred. “He’s trying to protect you, you jumped-up little shrimp. Acting like you’re better than everybody. You fucking sissy.”

Fuck. In addition to his heightened wariness, now Richie was pissed. _Don’t get arrested on assault charges, don’t get arrested on assault charges_ , he repeated to himself. _Self-defense only. If he doesn’t just fucking leave already_....

“I told you,” Eddie said, with barely contained fury that might have outclassed Richie’s by the sound of it, “Get the fuck out of here.” He was practically vibrating with anger, but there was no way in hell Richie was going to let him get at Bowers, or vice versa. 

“Or what? You’ll send your chef to kick my ass?” Laughing, Bowers swayed on his feet. “You don’t even appreciate the guy. He was fuckin’ talking to me, did you know that? He was ready to jump ship. Don’t know who the fuck you think you are, moving to this town and trying to take shit over— My restaurant was my dad’s, my dad’s dead, you fuckers— You f—”

“Hey!” Richie shouted. “Shut the fuck up and get the fuck out of here.”

“He doesn’t give two shits about you!” Bowers cackled, pointing at Richie. “He doesn’t apresh… apreshi… appreciate you! I’ll fucking kick your ass and it’ll be all for nothing!” Bowers threw a fist and nearly fell over. Yeah, he was pretty drunk—that didn’t mean he didn’t have a knife and wasn’t capable of rushing them. They needed to distract him, though, so they could get to their cars or something. Maybe make him fall down. But how? Meanwhile, Bowers was still ranting. “What, you think he’s your little boyfriend or something? Fucking pair of—”

Richie barely registered Eddie turning and moving him, grabbing hold of his collar, and pulling him down for a kiss, the other hand going to Richie’s hair to make sure he stayed where he was. As he gasped in surprise, Eddie took the opportunity to slide his tongue into his mouth, and Richie couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Eddie, pulling him flush against him. Slowly it dawned on him and his suddenly very interested dick that this was Eddie’s idea of a distraction. A brave and bold one, but a distraction nonetheless. His elation turned to disappointment, but only for a moment, since hearing Bowers squawk a disgusted “Fuck!” and, from the sound of it, fall over was worth it.

He looked over to see Bowers face down on the pavement, groaning. Losing no time, managing to rapidly clear his head from the thought of Eddie kissing him at least for now, Richie ran to him, and put a knee in the middle of his back, keeping him down despite his thrashes and howls of protest. “Call 911!” he shouted to Eddie, who of course appeared to already be in the process of doing so. 

Richie wasn’t excited about the prospect of holding down a drunk enraged man until the police showed up, but he was prepared to do so if needed. Luckily for all concerned, Bowers eventually passed out. 

The police arrived, and arrested a groaning Bowers; statements were taken, and finally the cruisers drove off, leaving them alone together in the parking lot.

“Can we go back in?” Eddie said. “I’m not ready to go home yet. I know it’s late, but—”

“Eh, Frieda will understand,” Richie said. “Extra treats for her this morning.” He followed Eddie back into sugar + salt.

Once they were back in Eddie’s office, with most of the lights still off, Eddie set down his bag, walked two steps over to Richie, and pressed him against the wall, both hands on his chest. He kissed him again.

 _Fuck_ , Richie thought, startled at the heat in the kiss, at Eddie’s eagerness; he was practically climbing on him, cupping his face and pulling his hair, and it was all Richie could do to keep up. He couldn’t stifle his groans at the way Eddie’s teeth nipped at his lips. 

That had _not_ been a kiss just to distract Bowers. Or at least, this one clearly wasn’t. Not from the way Eddie was practically grinding against him, nice suit or not. “Fucking—” Eddie was panting. “Could have gotten yourself killed. Idiot.”

“Well, I couldn’t let him get to you. Or you to him, honestly. Didn’t want you getting arrested for murder,” Richie managed to say. Eddie just growled and kissed him harder.

Richie hadn’t expected the evening to include Bowers trying to accost them in the parking lot, and he _definitely_ hadn’t expected it to include Eddie dropping to his knees in front of him.

“Rich,” Eddie was gasping, his fingers on the button of Richie’s fly, “please, can I—” 

“Yeah, yes. Yeah, God,” Richie got out, unable to think, forgetting what a terrible idea this was and just _wanting_ , wanting Eddie’s mouth on him, _Jesus Christ_.

Eddie had his fly down and his hand in Richie’s boxers almost before he got his answer out. His dick rapidly caught up with events, hardening in Eddie’s grip, making Richie gasp and moan. And that was before Eddie got his tongue on him, and then his lips around him. _Fuck_ , the wet, slick heat was too, too good. He couldn’t fucking believe Eddie was doing this. In his office, no less.

 _It’s just the adrenaline rush_ , Richie thought desperately. _Fuck, he’s gonna be pissed. I should have stopped him—_ But then, Eddie would have resented the idea that he wasn’t fully in control of his faculties, that Richie could have told him what he did and didn’t want. Or was Richie just telling himself that to justify his desires?

It was hard to care about the particulars when Eddie was gripping his hips in his hands and sucking his cock, actually _moaning_ around it. Richie’s hands went to Eddie’s hair, fingers curling restlessly in it as his orgasm rode a razor’s edge, so fucking close; he messed up Eddie’s pomaded style, staring incredulously at his face flushed dark, his eyes closed tight with his dark lashes fanned out over his cheekbones.

Richie lasted an embarrassingly short time before he was babbling, trying to pull at Eddie’s hair, trying to make him pull off. He had no fucking idea where he was planning to come if not down Eddie’s throat, but well, that seemed impossible. No way would Eddie allow that. 

But Eddie didn’t budge, and he swallowed him down as Richie moaned helplessly, knees going weak. He was barely cognizant of Eddie releasing his hips to get his hands in his own pants, frantically unbuckling himself and undoing his fly. 

The thought of Eddie coming in his no-doubt expensive little briefs and tailored suit pants made Richie’s cock throb again, as he clutched at himself and with trembling fingers tried to tuck himself back into his boxers. He watched with devouring eyes as Eddie sat back on his heels jerking himself off, turning to press his face into his shoulder as he panted and came, like he didn’t want Richie to see what he looked like when he did. Realizing that, Richie felt shattered, but it was also unbearably hot and he could not fucking stop looking, wanting to commit it all to memory, everything he was allowed to see. 

\-------

Eddie finally looked up, remembered where he was, and felt mortified at the same moment: right after he came, kneeling at Richie’s feet, in his office.

Richie stared down at him, amazed and fucked-out-looking. God, Eddie wanted to see him like that again—

“Eddie,” Richie said, hoarse.

 _Fuck!_ Eddie thought to himself. Shit, what was he doing?! He was the owner of this goddamn restaurant and he’d just blown his head chef! That realization sent a decidedly unhelpful throbbing through his cock, and he mentally scolded it as he tucked himself away, tried to wipe off his hand on his underwear, and did up his fly. Jesus, he’d taken advantage of his employee. Obviously nobody could freely consent to their boss basically begging to blow them at work. He buckled himself up, and cleared his throat. “Rich,” he finally said, “I’m sorry. That was a mistake. I should not have done that.”

Looking stricken, Richie slowly nodded. “Right,” he said, with uncharacteristic quiet.

“I mean, it’s just….” Eddie huffed out a sigh. “I’m the owner of the restaurant, Rich. We can’t….” He gestured to the space between them. “We can’t be… involved.”

“I mean, Ben and Bev are together….” Richie said, and trailed off, blushing, like he’d said too much. Blushing! Richie Tozier, blushing. Looking down, Richie did up his fly.

Eddie blinked. “Right, but that’s different. I’m the owner. It’s… it’s not a good look, that’s all.” He got to his feet, stumbling a little (damn knees), and reflexively grabbed on to Richie for balance. Richie helped him up, and then pulled him closer and kissed him. Kissed him deep, and slow, until Eddie couldn’t help a moan low in his throat. “Richie,” he gasped into the kiss, “we can’t…. We can’t… tell anybody,” he amended. He thought he heard Richie chuckle with dry triumph against his lips, but he wasn’t sure.

Damn it, he couldn’t stop kissing Richie. It was like he was starved for him. But he needed to get home, and…. “Your cat,” Eddie said.

“My cat,” Richie repeated, sounding lost.

“Yeah. She’s going to wonder where you are,” Eddie said, wishing he didn’t sound so breathless. 

“Right,” Richie said, and swallowed. “Yeah. So. I’ll get going.” Looking dazed, he turned and walked to the door. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Rich,” Eddie called after him. He didn’t dare walk to the door with him, although he watched from inside to make sure he left the parking lot okay, and he knew Richie saw him watching. If he’d gone out there with him, Eddie knew it would be too tempting to go home with him, otherwise, and that was a terrible idea. He needed some space to breathe first.

The next day, Eddie hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep (although he was kind of used to that), and he was somewhat concerned the knees of those pants would never be the same. He’d put the briefs in the washer immediately, and they seemed okay. Before he’d slept, he’d jerked off to the thought of Richie again, and then felt like shit about it. But he still wanted him.

On a whim—well, no, Eddie Kaspbrak didn’t have whims—he put a strip of condoms and a small bottle of lube in his bag. Just in case. If there was one thing Eddie Kaspbrak could do, it was make plans “just in case.” 

They didn’t take up that much room in his bag, but his thoughts strayed back to them over and over on the drive in. By the time he parked, he felt like an idiot for bringing them; by the time he was in his office, he was mentally berating himself. What did he think he was going to do here, fuck Richie in his office? Richie was his employee. Not letting anyone else find out about what happened wouldn't make it okay. Definitely didn’t make it okay to do something like that again.

He was the first person in; then Bill, then Mike, then Ben. Eddie hadn’t thought to notify them about what had happened with Bowers; they were asleep at the time, most likely, and he could just tell them when he came in. But word travelled fast, and somehow they all already knew. By the time Bev and Stan arrived, everyone was gathered in his office, wanting to hear all about the excitement. He could hear the door open and Richie walking down the hall as he said “Yeah, Richie was great.”

“Did I hear my name?” Richie said, stopping in front of Eddie’s office where everyone else was gathered. “You guys talking trash about me?”

“Eddie was just telling us how amazing you were last night,” Bev said, smiling.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Richie waved dismissively. “Eddie was pretty amazing last night, too,” he said, looking at Eddie. Eddie felt his neck get hot.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Rich,” he said. “Hey, catch up with me before you leave,” he told him, and Richie’s eyebrows went up before he nodded. Then, he was pretty much surrounded by the rest of the crew, who peppered him with questions. 

Eddie was distracted all day by the thought of the condoms and lube in his bag and the fact that Richie was meeting with him before he left. He frankly was starting to obsess about it. If Richie found out he brought that stuff with him, what would his reaction be? Endless ridicule? Merciless mocking? Cold disapproval?

Or would he be interested? 

As more and more people started to leave for the night, to the point where he and Richie were almost alone, Eddie decided the risk was too great. Richie could sue him for sexual harassment or something. He found himself cringing, imagining giving testimony in court about how yes, he’d basically begged Richie to let him suck his dick, taking advantage of the aftermath of an intense situation, and that he’d followed that up with bringing condoms and lube to work.

He heard Richie stop in front of his office door, and lean against the doorframe. “Hey,” he said, just one word but it felt heavy with meaning. Was Eddie imagining that?

Eddie looked up. He locked eyes with Richie, and that was that. 

He closed his laptop, and locked it in its drawer. “Everybody else gone?” he asked, and Richie walked in and stood in front of his desk. 

“Yup.”

Eddie stood up, walked around his desk, grabbed the soft t-shirt Richie’d had on under his chef’s jacket, and pulled him down to kiss him. Richie’s arms went around him, pulling him up flush against him, and Eddie was seized by the same hunger and need he’d felt the other night. Richie was so _big_ , so _there_ , warm, smelling faintly of fresh sweat and the heat and odors of his kitchen, tasting like he’d popped a breath mint in anticipation of being kissed. 

It all went to Eddie’s head, and he felt hot and wild somehow. Barely controlling the demanding rush of desire, he made the kiss a biting one and got out, “I want to bend you over this desk.”

Richie froze, and Eddie went cold all over. Fuck, he’d done it now. He pulled back, and discovered Richie was staring at him, face flushed and pupils wide. “Jesus,” he said, and absently licked his lips. Eddie went still, waiting for him to add _You can’t say things like that to me_ or _You’ll be hearing from my lawyer_.

But before he could add anything, Eddie, in a horror of not wanting to hear him say it, interjected in a rush, “I’m sorry, Rich, I’m your boss, I shouldn’t have said that—”

“I think it’s hot,” Richie interrupted. “Don’t you?”

“What, what’s hot?” Eddie said stupidly, arrested by the way Richie pulled his lower lip between his teeth just then. _Everything about you?_

“That you’re my boss and you wanted to suck me off and want to fuck me over your desk. C’mon, that’s fucking hot.”

Eddie shuddered at his words, and closed his eyes tightly for a moment. He groaned. “But it’s not right, Richie—”

“I mean, with you I would think it’s hot anyway, whether you were my boss or not,” Richie continued, shifting back to reach down and adjust himself, “but the wrongness adds some flavor, you know?”

Eddie groaned again. “You’re impossible,” he said.

“I’m actually really easy, if you play your cards right,” Richie said, with a wink. He began unbuttoning his fly. “You, uh, got anything?” he asked, pushing his jeans down his hips. He was wearing boxers with chili peppers on them.

Tearing his eyes away, Eddie hurriedly knelt for his bag, and dug briefly through it, retrieving a condom and the lube. He set it on the desk, where Richie looked at it in surprise. “Jesus, do you always have that with you?”

“No,” Eddie admitted, feeling his face turn red. He went to shed his jacket. 

“No, leave it on, leave everything on,” Richie said, face turning red too. “I mean, not that I don’t want to see you, I do, it’s just—” He cleared his throat, and leaned forward onto his elbows, still staring at Eddie and the condom and lube in turn. “So you brought that special just for me?”

“ _Yes_ , obviously,” Eddie huffed, with an eyeroll. He unbuckled his belt, untucked his shirt, undid his fly, and as Richie stared, pulled his cock out through the opening in his briefs. He heard Richie’s shaky exhalation as he walked around behind him, and he gasped as Eddie wrenched down his boxers. Eddie reached to wrap a hand around his cock and give him a squeeze. Richie was getting hard, and Eddie rubbed his thumb over the head as Richie groaned. “We have to be quick,” Eddie told him, leaning over him, and Richie nodded immediately, frantically. 

“Fuck, yes. Please, just fuck me, fast and hard. I want it, God,” Richie got out, already sounding wrecked. 

He let go of Richie’s cock with a squeezing stroke that made him gasp again, to uncap the lube and get it all over his fingers. Yes, he probably was going to get this suit messy. Somehow, that didn’t bother him just now.

He ruthlessly slid two wet fingers into Richie, who slumped forward with a gut-punched groan, rocking his hips. “God, _please_ ,” he gasped, fingers going to grasp the other side of the desk. “Please, now, I can—”

Eddie scrambled for the condom packet, realizing too late that he should have opened it already because his fingers were now slippery. Even though he hadn’t looked up, Richie must have realized what he was thinking. 

“You don’t need it,” Richie said, “I don’t have anything, I fucking swear. I— I want you to,” he got out, and Eddie figured that if he was already doing something incredibly foolish and stupid, he might as well go all out. 

“Fuck. Okay, fine,” Eddie got out, giving himself a few strokes with his lube-slick hand before pressing his dick to Richie’s hole and sliding it in. “I want to watch you take me,” he found himself saying, and he watched himself sink in. 

“Holy fuck,” Richie whispered, shuddering. “ _Please_.”

Eddie found himself suddenly wishing he could take his time with Richie: get him in an actual bed, undress him, kiss him everywhere until he was incoherent, work him open until he was begging. But a bed was not where they were, they didn’t have all the time in the world, and Richie was begging regardless. Eddie gripped his hips and gave him what he wanted—what they both wanted. 

The fact that they were both still clothed made the areas where their bare skin touched seem obscenely intimate. Richie’s big chest heaved with his panting breaths; Eddie got the feeling he couldn’t help how he gasped on every exhalation, like he was completely caught up. He was hot and tight around Eddie’s dick, pushing back against him with every stroke in his sheer eagerness for it. The desk creaked in rhythmic warning beneath them; Richie’s hands still gripped the far end of it, white-knuckling. Eddie had a vision of Richie’s cock leaking on his desk, and felt his own cock throb at the thought of it. He was either getting it all over his shirt or stomach or the desk, maybe all of the above. The thought of looking at his desk and seeing the spot where he’d dribbled on it, even after it was cleaned up— Fuck, Richie was going to come all over his desk. 

Eddie went faster. Richie groaned and braced himself. “Come on my cock,” Eddie ordered him, surprising himself a little, but Richie’s response was almost immediate: he moaned, slumping forward and going rigid, clenching around Eddie, who fucked him harder and faster still through it, until he was coming deep inside him, fingers digging into his hips, thinking about Richie’s come on his desk.

Eddie pulled out, cock twitching faintly as he looked down to see Richie’s pinkened hole slick with lube and his come. Wiping his hands on his briefs, he tucked himself in with slightly trembling fingers, tucked his shirt in, and did up his fly. Richie was still bent over, apparently catching his breath. 

“Rich. Up,” Eddie said, and with a groan Richie stood up, pulling his boxers up, then his jeans. Eddie looked past him to the pool of come on his desk, then stepped forward to stand next to him, and scoop it up on his fingers.

“Oh, sor—” Richie started, shutting up when Eddie held his fingers up to his mouth. Eyes widening, Richie regardless immediately parted his lips to take in Eddie’s fingers and suck them clean, lids lowering as his tongue worked over them. “Jesus,” Richie breathed as Eddie withdrew his fingers, and he seemed surprised as Eddie leaned up to kiss him. Eddie had to cut off the kiss much sooner than he would have preferred.

“We gotta go before the night cleaning crew gets here,” Eddie told him, and buckled his belt. 

“Right,” Richie said, as Eddie went into a desk drawer to get some Kleenex and wipe the last bit of come from his desk, as well as wipe his hands more thoroughly. He put the unopened condom and the lube in his bag, as Richie watched. “You sure I can’t tell anyone about that?” Richie said, sounding like he was only half-teasing, still sounding breathless and fucked-out. “That was…. Fuck.”

“No, Rich. You can’t tell anyone,” Eddie reminded him, stern. 

“God, okay.” Richie swept his hands through his sweaty hair. “If that’s the price I must pay, that’s fine. It’s worth it.” He exhaled loudly, seeming a little dazed, shifting. Eddie wondered if his boxers were uncomfortable, if they were sticky with Eddie’s come.

“Go on home,” Eddie told him. “Remember Frieda.”

“Frieda would be happy that I got some,” Richie said, and Eddie couldn’t help laughing. He looked up at the clock. 

“Let’s go,” he said, and went to turn out the light, picking up his bag. He set the alarm, locked the door, and walked out with Richie just because they really did have to get out of there; otherwise, he thought he would have waited for him to leave, to avoid the temptation of just going home with him. He instead wished him a good night, and said he’d see him tomorrow.

\-------

Richie went home in a daze, ass kind of sore in a good way, boxers sticky with Eddie’s come. Once he got home, after he fed the cat her nighttime snack he took a shower, and got a hand around himself and jerked off under the hot spray, even though he was exhausted and was tempted to just drop into bed as he was. He was kind of reluctant to wash any sign of Eddie off his body, but he didn’t really want to think about _that_ too hard, and he honestly was a little too sweaty to not be gross.

Jesus, never in a million years would he have expected Eddie Kaspbrak to bend him over the desk and fuck him within an inch of his life. He came thinking about it, remembering how Eddie had told him to come on his cock, and how he immediately had.

Muscles relaxed from the hot water, he slept like a rock, like he hadn’t in years.

The next day, he paused at Eddie’s office door to say “Hey,” and after Eddie looked up at him and said “Hey” too, Eddie glanced down at the desk, right where Richie came, and then back at him, ears turning red. Richie could only swallow, give him a short wave, and head on back to the kitchen. He wondered if Eddie would ask him to stay late again tonight. 

He didn’t see Eddie again until he came back to the kitchen after lunch rush, and came over to him. “Hey, Rich,” he said, those big dark eyes looking into Richie’s, “if you could get here an hour or so earlier tomorrow morning than you usually do—I won’t have time to meet with you tonight but I did have something I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Richie said, saluting with a grin, trying to play off how his heart started beating faster. Yeah, he had to wait until tomorrow, but… he could do that.

When he showed up an hour earlier than usual the next day, Eddie’s A6 was in the parking lot. “I didn’t think you’d show,” he said, as Richie walked into his office, and as soon as Richie set down his bag Eddie was on him. 

Turning, Richie pressed him against the wall as he was kissed, and Eddie seemed to be pulling at him, struggling to get closer, grinding his hips desperately against Richie’s. Richie reached under his ass to hoist him up, his legs going around Richie’s hips. Eddie broke the kiss to say, “Like this?” and it was more a clarification than a question; it was almost a demand. “Hurry,” Eddie added. “Lube’s in my bag.”

So, Richie, his jeans and boxers around his hips, found himself fucking a shoeless, pantless, and briefsless Eddie against the wall of Eddie’s office.

He’d loosened Eddie’s tie and collar so he could get at his neck, the bend of it, nipping and sucking at his skin over Eddie’s breathless protest that he’d leave marks, even though he was sure they both knew Richie was going for that spot for a reason. 

Eddie’s fit runner’s legs were wrapped tight around him, and he was gasping, loosening a stream-of-consciousness babbling as though Richie’s dick had fucked the words out of him. “Fuck, Rich, fuck—you feel so good, just— Fuck, keep going, come on, come for me—”

Hard and fast seemed to be working out for them, although Richie couldn’t help imagining rolling around on a bed with Eddie and taking their time. As unlikely as that scenario was. 

He came with his face buried in Eddie’s neck, panting hotly, Eddie’s legs tightening around him as he pulled at Richie’s hair, getting his mouth where Eddie could kiss him; Eddie moaned into the kiss as he came, and Richie felt him spurt between them. Richie kept kissing him, wrapped up in it, as Eddie tried to catch his breath, muttering things all the while into the kiss like he couldn’t stop. “Jesus fuck, you’re so fucking hot, I can’t fucking believe—”

Richie tried to think of what the fuck to say to _that_ , but the next thing he knew he heard the front door open. Then he heard Bill and Ben’s voices, and Ben calling, “Hey, you guys here early?” as he walked into the hall, and it was too late to even attempt to shut the door. “Oh, shit,” Ben exclaimed, moving just in time, Richie saw, to throw out an arm and keep Bill from walking into the office too. But Bill had already seen them. For a long, horrible moment, he and Eddie stared at Ben and and Bill behind him, frozen.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Eddie exclaimed, Richie’s dick still in his ass and his legs still wrapped around him. 

“Shit, shit, sorry,” Ben said, finally recovering from his shock, pushing himself away from the doorframe and herding the much smaller Bill back into the hallway. 

“Oh my God,” Eddie groaned, and his head fell back against the wall with a thunk. “Oh my God, oh my God. Fuck.” He smacked at Richie’s shoulders. “Let me down, let me down. Fuck.”

Richie let him slide down to touch his sockfeet to the floor. Shaking his head frantically, wild-eyed, Eddie went around the room collecting his clothes from the floor or taking them from Richie, clumsily putting them back on as quickly as he could, muttering to himself in horror. Richie tucked himself back in and did up his fly. _At least we both got to come first?_ he found himself thinking, before, with a sinking feeling, wondering where he could go work now. “Eddie, it’s okay,” he said, watching Eddie manically knot his tie, and then evidently give up trying to make it neat. 

“It’s not okay, it’s not okay,” Eddie said, patting himself down to make sure he was at least mostly back in order. “Oh my God,” he moaned again, rubbing both hands over his face. “I knew this was all a mistake, I told you this wasn’t a good idea— Fuck, Ben won’t say anything but I know Bill will, you know how he is—”

He looked so distressed Richie walked toward him and wrapped his arms around him. Eddie resisted for a moment and then melted against him briefly, arms tight around him. “Then let’s tell them,” Richie said. “Both of us, so they won’t think you’re… blackmailing me, or whatever the fuck it is you think they’re gonna think you’re doing.”

“Coercing you, and shut up,” Eddie said into Richie’s chest, muffled. He sighed, and then abruptly pulled back. “Okay. Come on,” he said, and marched down to Bill’s office.

Bill was behind his desk, and Ben was standing in front of him with his arms folded, looking worried, talking quietly. They looked to the door in surprise when Eddie walked up, followed by Richie. Ben smothered a grin, Richie saw, but his face was red.

“So. Yes,” Eddie said, breaking the silence. “Richie and I have been sleeping together.”

“Banging in his office,” Richie corrected, and shrugged at Eddie’s glare. Bill laughed behind his hand.

Eddie continued. “I’m sorry you… had to see that,” he said. “It was very unprofessional. It won’t happen again.”

Richie slowly exhaled.

Ben smiled, gentle, and shrugged. “Sorry, Bill was coming in earlier than usual to do paperwork and he gave me a ride. If it helps, we already kind of assumed you guys were….” He trailed off, waving a hand vaguely.

“Banging,” Bill helpfully supplied.

Eddie groaned quietly, pressing his hands to his face.

“It’s the restaurant industry, Eddie!” Bill said. “Everyone’s banging.”

“I’m saying!” Richie chimed in, gesturing at Bill. “He thinks he’s… taking advantage of me, or something. Like I’m going to fucking sue him.” He laughed. “I can’t sue him, I have to keep working here. Bowers is in fucking jail, man!” 

Ben’s smile widened, Bill snickered, and Eddie groaned again. “Okay,” he said, “I will… tell Stan, Bev, and Mike myself. Okay? Please don’t….” He groaned once more, evidently aware he was asking the impossible. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”

“I make no guarantees,” Bill said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I swear to God, Bill,” Eddie said, raising a hand and gesturing in the air with it as if it were a knife. 

Richie folded his arms. “Guys, Bill, please. You’re going to give Eddie an aneurysm.”

“I think you already did that,” Bill said, and Eddie choked. 

“You know perfectly well that an aneurysm is not an orgasm, Bill Denbrough, shut the fuck up.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say the word ‘orgasm,’” Ben remarked.

“Hopefully you never will again.” Eddie ran his hands over his face one more time, with feeling. “I’m going to the restroom to freshen up before our _work day_ starts, Jesus fucking Christ.” He rushed out of the room, calling back “Get to work” to the three of them.

Richie stood against the doorframe, arms folded, and smiled broadly back at Ben and Bill, who shook their heads at him, grinning. “He’ll get over it,” he said, and went to put on his chef’s whites.

He hoped Eddie would get over it, anyway.

As Stan, Mike, and Bev arrived, Eddie, looking drawn and stressed out and never making eye contact with Richie, hustled them all into his office. Richie was amused to see that he’d remembered to put away the lube.

Bill looked smug, Ben was smiling beatifically, and the others looked wildly curious. Richie assumed Bill had already texted them—it’s what he would have done—but even if they knew, they were probably still wondering what the fuck Eddie was going to say about it.

“Okay,” Eddie finally said, scrubbing his hands over his face again, “Jesus fucking Christ, I cannot believe I am having to call this meeting, but, I wanted you all to know directly from me, yes, Richie and I are… involved—” Bev’s jaw dropped and her eyebrows shot up as she covered her mouth; Mike grinned; Stan looked down and chuckled softly— “and no, I do not expect it to impact our work here.”

Except for Eddie, they all looked over at Richie at the same time. Richie gave them a shit-eating grin. He wasn’t happy they got caught, exactly—it clearly distressed Eddie, and there was a possibility he was going to end things altogether because of this—but he wasn’t ashamed, and, well, part of him liked that Eddie was being forced to acknowledge it. He didn’t want to be anyone’s dirty little secret. He’d been that before, and he hadn’t liked it.

Eddie sighed. “Okay. So that’s out there. I don’t…. I expect us to carry on as normal. Just… pretend it’s the same as it’s ever been,” he said, and Richie arched a brow at that, folding his arms. With another sigh, Eddie said, “Dismissed,” and everyone filed out, looking amused. 

Richie stayed behind. “Told you it would be fine.” 

Eddie folded his arms, and shook his head. “It’s… whatever. We’ll see how it shakes out. I didn’t really have a choice,” he said, voice tight.

“This was all your idea, to do this here,” Richie reminded him, stepping closer. “All three times.” When Eddie opened his mouth, pointing, ready to retort, Richie cut him off. “I made my choice and I chose what you wanted every time, because I wanted it too. I wanted you.” _Want you, present tense_ , he thought but did not say. “Don’t put this on me, but don’t be unnecessarily hard on yourself. I know I’m irresistible.” Grinning, before Eddie could say anything or throw something at him, Richie strolled out of his office. Maybe he showed a little more confidence than he felt, but damn it.

He threw himself into work, and quickly got caught up in it, but when Bill went on break, he gestured for Richie to come with him, and he did. 

“So,” Bill said, “everybody knows you’re banging. Guess Eddie really is being nicer to you now.” He smirked. 

Richie groaned. “I think Eddie’s pissed, actually.”

“I think he’ll get over it,” Bill said. “He’s just embarrassed that people might assume he’s unprofessional and undignified. It’s his pride that’s hurt.”

“You guys don’t really think that, do you? That’s he’s undignified and unprofessional.”

Bill shook his head. “We all have a lot of respect for Eddie. I actually kind of like that he’s lost his head a little. Over you.”

“Over _me_?” Richie pointed at himself, like an idiot.

Bill nodded. “He works too hard. Sure, he’s out, but he’s never made time to date much that I know of, and I’ve known him since we were kids. I mean, yeah, this is a t-t-tough industry.” Bill had told Richie once that he’d had a slight stutter as a child and it occasionally resurfaced. “And he’s an owner, but… he needs a little fun. I get concerned that he’s too in his head.”

Unable to resist, Richie said “ _I_ was in his head,” and waggled his brows.

Bill laughed, making a face. “I don’t need to know the details.”

“Yeah, you’ve seen enough.” Richie snickered.

“I really have. But hey, don’t worry about Eddie. Once he realizes people won’t act weird about it, he’ll be fine.”

“So does that mean you guys won’t tease him?” Richie asked.

“Again, I make no guarantees.” Bill grinned.

For the next few days, Eddie seemed to make a point of trying to act like everything was the way it was before he knew Bowers had been making overtures to Richie, except that, for the most part where he might have once called Richie out, he instead didn’t say much at all to him. He didn’t ask Richie to stay late or come in early. He replied to his emails about menu items and ingredients with the minimum needed. He barely made eye contact. 

Richie found himself bothered by it. Yeah, Eddie was probably still embarrassed and wanting to avoid accusations of impropriety, or favoritism. But something about it was humiliating, with part of him certain that Eddie thought of him not as a dirty little secret anymore, since the cat was out of the bag, but a dirty little mistake, which might be worse.

Eventually, Richie got tired of it, and waited after the others were gone until he and Eddie were the only ones left. He was sure at least one of them noticed he was staying, but he didn’t really give a shit.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against Eddie’s doorframe. Eddie looked up, startled; there was a flash of guilt on his face, and then he looked down.

“Hey, Richie.”

“So,” Richie finally said, “this is your idea of making it seem like nothing ever happened.”

Eddie frowned, unhappy. “I never said I wanted to pretend nothing ever happened.”

“You’re like… pretending I don’t exist,” Richie said, folding his arms. “If you already told everybody we’re ‘involved,’ there’s no reason for us not to be ‘involved.’”

Eddie sighed. “Richie,” he said, “if I act toward you like I’m… involved with you, it’ll look like I’m playing favorites.”

“So it was that it would look like you’d coerced me, now it’s that people will think you’re playing favorites because we fuck.”

Eddie blinked. “Wouldn’t that be what it would look like?”

“Eddie. Do you think anyone who has ever seen you interact with me thinks you would ever play favorites with me? That you’re anything other than fair even if that means being hard on me sometimes? They already thought we were banging, Eddie.”

“What do you want me to do, Richie?” Eddie sighed.

“Just treat me like normal!” Richie said. “And maybe bang me too.” It felt like a lot to say, a lot to ask for, but Richie didn’t regret bringing it all up. He’d spent too much time when he was younger not asking for what he wanted. Even as it was, it was hard not to joke, not to couch his questions in self-deprecation. “I mean… I don’t want to stop doing this. Do you?”

“No,” Eddie said. 

“In fact,” Richie said, and inhaled because he was about to take a very, very big risk, “I want more than just this.”

Eddie blinked again. He set his elbows on the desk, clasped his hands, and pressed his knuckles to his mouth. Richie waited to be told Eddie wasn’t interested, that Richie had overstepped. “I do, too,” Eddie finally said. “I want more too, Rich.”

Richie swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said. “But.… I mean, does that mean if we’re actually… together, you won’t be weird about it? I mean, if you’re concerned about favoritism, do you want me to… go somewhere else?” 

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Eddie’s big eyes looked oddly mournful. 

“Jesus fuck, no. I love it here.”

Eddie blinked rapidly in what seemed to be relief. “I don’t want to leave either,” he said, with a sigh.

“You shouldn’t have to!” Richie said. “I think we can do this, Eddie, I really do. I wouldn’t mention it if I didn’t think it was possible.”

“What are people going to say if the owner and the head chef of a restaurant are… boyfriends?” Eddie asked, resting his chin in his palm.

“They’re going to say they run a great fucking restaurant together, is what they’re gonna say,” Richie exclaimed. 

“What if we break up?” Eddie said, brow furrowed, mouth an unhappy line.

Richie looked at him a long time, and smiled. “What if we don’t?”

\-------

_**sugar + salt, and everything nice**  
How a restaurant owner and his head chef fell in love with food—and each other  
By Elizabeth Cipriotti  
For Boston Magazine_

_sugar + salt  
1408 West Broadway  
$$-$$$  
Monday through Friday, 11–9  
Saturday and Sunday, brunch 10–2; dinner 6–9_

_“Babe!”_

_The authoritative voice of New England Culinary Institute graduate and head chef of cozy, classy brunch jewel sugar + salt’s Richie Tozier carries across the noisy, steamy kitchen. The endearment catches the ear of his husband, sugar + salt’s owner, Eddie Kaspbrak, who hurries to his side and greets him with a cheek kiss before an animated discussion begins on possible adjustments to be made to their newest menu item: slow-roasted duck marinated overnight in balsamic vinegar and mustard. (Fingerling potatoes are on the side, plus a trio of briny Sicilian olives.) The upscale dish was introduced in honor of their first anniversary, and the recommended accompaniment is a dessert of regional favorite Indian pudding with a scoop of house-made vanilla bean ice cream._

_The meal is the latest addition to Tozier and Kasprak’s joint effort to raise the profile of the familiar comfort foods of New England, combining fine dining with childhood nostalgia: the popular menu also includes Yankee pot roast, red flannel hash, and fried clam bellies in summer. Red velvet whoopie pies and needhams (potato and chocolate candy, an old Maine tradition) are available at the register._

_The duo, comprising one of the most heralded chefs in the area in the past decade and one of the most accomplished restaurateurs appearing on numerous lists of Gay Entrepreneurs to Watch, have been married for just over a year. Their wedding, catered by their own restaurant (of course), took place, to hear the colorful Chef Tozier tell it, on “the most f------ beautiful autumn day ever” in the idyllic Maine backwoods—a destination wedding that still honored the couple’s connection to the wild beauty of New England. The region holds a place in their hearts as not only where they established their careers, but as the place they met._

_Tozier’s innovative menu, made up of traditional New England comfort foods deliciously elevated and sourced from local farms, soon established itself as a hit at Kaspbrak’s fledgling restaurant. “I’d wanted to be a chef since I was a kid,” says Tozier, relaxed and friendly in his chef’s whites after the evening rush. His sharply dressed husband is by his side, tending to his newest cuts and burns with Neosporin and Band-Aids after dismissing cursory objections to the fussing in what appears to be an established ritual. “And sugar + salt turned out to be the best venue for me to really bring my love of food to the table.” He laughs at his pun; his husband likes to say, Tozier tells me, that he should have been a comedian rather than a chef._

_Kaspbrak must be teasing; it’s difficult to imagine Tozier having a brighter career doing standup than designing brunch, lunch, and dinner menus with his characteristic good taste and robust spirit. For his part, Kaspbrak, with a Masters in Management of Hospitality from Cornell, had always wanted to create a familiar neighborhood spot serving unique food to a loyal local crowd; after a few misses, he’s now hit the jackpot, not least when it comes to his serendipitous introduction to his head chef, a friend of the restaurant’s accountant._

_It was not, Kaspbrak admits, exactly love at first sight—the two of them clashed often over menu and personnel decisions, and sometimes still do—but in time, the immediate attraction that did exist between them developed into a full-blown affair, one that at first made Kaspbrak nervous that employees would assume favoritism toward Tozier. Manager Bill Denbrough, however, assures me that no one was concerned Kaspbrak was less than fair, and accountant Stanley Uris, tells me, “I’m just glad they both recognized a good thing when they saw it.”_

_As Kaspbrak blushes, Tozier admits that unbeknownst to each other, they were both planning proposals simultaneously, but—_

\-------

“I still can’t believe she wrote that I _blushed_ ,” Eddie complained, taking the magazine from Richie and tossing it to the floor. 

“Hey!” Richie protested. “We gotta frame that article.”

“We have like a thousand other copies. We could wallpaper the house in them,” Eddie said, turning back to layer himself once more over Richie’s naked body and under the feather comforter, warm in the chilly room, snow falling outside. “You’ve already read it out loud three times.”

“We’d just gotten to my favorite part,” Richie said, and sighed, running his hand down Eddie’s back, soothing. Eddie closed his eyes.

“The part where I had to do the proposing because you were too scared?”

“I was not scared! Also you didn't know I was planning to propose.”

“Details.” He shifted to press a kiss to Richie’s neck. 

“I was not _scared_ ,” Richie protested again, but halfheartedly. He tilted his head to give Eddie more room, like all of him wasn’t Eddie’s territory anyway, but he appreciated the gesture regardless. “I never had a chance!”

When Richie had moved in with him, he’d of course been given free reign (within reason, of course) of the kitchen as well as anything for it that his heart desired that Eddie didn’t already own. Reason took a holiday there, after all; as it turned out, there were few things Eddie liked more than showering Richie with the finest fancy kitchen gadgets.

Eddie, although he didn’t know much about food compared to a chef, knew a lot about quality household purchases. The first time Richie had seen Eddie’s kitchen, he informed him that the wide array of top-of-the-line Wolf and Sub-Zero appliances was giving him a chubby (not to mention the extensive set of Wüsthof knives), something which Eddie then demanded to see proof of; things ended with sex on the kitchen floor, something Eddie wouldn’t have thought he’d ever be party to. 

Richie also liked to test out recipes in the kitchen, and he’d feed Eddie bites, by hand or by spoon, and get his opinion; something about it made Eddie blush every time. Over Eddie’s halfhearted protests, because of the likelihood of messiness on his Egyptian cotton sheets, this tasting, of a somewhat different nature, extended to the bedroom. Eventually Eddie came around, got used to being sticky with sugar in unorthodox areas, and bought another set of cheaper sheets for such occasions. 

And one day Richie had made Eddie breakfast in bed: a typical-enough thing, but this time was special. As Richie told it, he’d been planning to propose to Eddie at some point while he ate, but couldn’t (“You were so engrossed in eating! It was kind of freaking me out a little!” “No, I was chowing the fuck down because it was delicious because you’re a brilliant professional chef and you were too scared to propose because you thought I was going to say no and rip your head off!”) and the moment Eddie was done eating, he set down his fork and said “Marry me” in what Richie described as a demanding tone (“I didn’t think I had a choice!”). 

Eddie did not admit to Richie or the article author that he had chickened out of phrasing it like a question because he was afraid Richie would turn him down, but ultimately it hadn’t mattered; Richie had looked incredibly relieved, as well as stunned, and had surged forward to cup his face in his hands and kiss him, knocking over several (thankfully empty) dishes on the breakfast tray on Eddie’s lap. He _did_ tell her that he’d probably never forget the look on Richie’s face. 

“At least,” Eddie said between kisses, “we didn’t tell her about the first time you told me ‘I love you,’ by reflex when I was walking back to my office, in front of all your cooks, and it made me drop an entire folder of health inspection papers, _and_ then you dropped an entire tray of crème brûlée ramekins.”

Richie groaned, and Eddie could practically feel him warming with embarrassment. “Don’t fucking remind me. I swear the floor is still sticky there. And hey, I did tell her that I cried because you sent me flowers,” Richie pointed out. 

Eddie had sent him deep red carnations and pink roses, and at first Richie had teared up just from getting flowers, period, because no one had ever done that for him before—not that Eddie had known that, he’d just been seized with the urge to send Richie flowers. Then Ben had looked it up and told Richie what deep red carnations and pink roses meant in terms of flower symbolism, and just as Eddie had been freaking out alone in his office thinking he’d gone too far, Richie had walked in suddenly, closing the door behind himself while obviously fighting back tears. Eddie had jumped up in alarm, and before he could get out anything to defend himself Richie had wrapped him up tightly in his arms, and Eddie had sagged against him in relief. 

The vase with the bouquet had stayed in the kitchen until the flowers started falling apart, and then Richie had taken the vase home and pressed a carnation and a rose in his copy of _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_ , because it was over seven hundred pages long and weighed a shit-ton. 

“You should be glad she didn’t print that,” Eddie said, smiling against Richie’s skin. “That’d ruin your reputation as a hotshot badass chef.” Pressing more feather-light kisses to Richie’s neck, he made a mental note to get Richie flowers again—it had been a while. Red and orange tulips this time, maybe.

Richie shifted back to look at him, their faces so close that he went practically cross-eyed trying to focus. “You think I’m a hotshot badass?” he teased, but Eddie caught the color rising in his cheeks. 

“No,” Eddie said, grinning, gently tugging on Richie’s hair in just the way he loved. “I think you’re _my_ hotshot badass.”

“All for you, Eddie my love,” Richie murmured, before smiling widely and shifting to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never worked in a restaurant but I hope I'm not too off! Title inspired by a commercial for a "beachy waves" hair product.
> 
> Stuff I wanted to add but couldn't find a way to work in:  
> -Richie makes amazing birthday feasts for Eddie  
> -Richie and Eddie watch _Babette's Feast_ and Richie gets super emotional about it  
> -Eddie lives in fear of Richie cutting his finger off; Richie considers playing a prank on him and then decides not to after Stan talks him out of it


End file.
